


Operation Pizza

by RembrandtsWife



Series: Code Name Fanfic [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, F/M, M/M, Oral Sex, Other, Pizza, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:50:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RembrandtsWife/pseuds/RembrandtsWife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do you seduce a secret agent with a license to kill? Make him a damned good homemade pizza.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation Pizza

**Author's Note:**

> This follows after my Eve/Q story, "Code Name Movie Night," and since I've started a Bond/Q and am planning two other stories, I think we have a series on our hands. Thanks much to nookienostradamus for beta and general encouragement.

"My God, you've actually got a pizza stone."

Bond's tone was meant to be provoking, of course. "Really, 007, it's not that odd. I like making homemade pizza; therefore, a pizza stone is a useful tool in my kitchen, not an outre accessory. I don't, for example, have a bread machine, as when I feel like baking bread, I like to do it the old-fashioned way."

"You bake bread?" Bond sounded less provoking and more outright disbelieving. Eve was giggling as she rinsed and wiped three matching glasses.

Q sniffed and picked up the jar of gourmet pizza sauce. "It's a wonderful way of allowing the subconscious mind to work on a project, with a delicious, nourishing end result." He pulled the jar away from Bond's uninvited grasp and wrestled with it a bit longer, till it gave way with a most satisfying pop.

"That smells delicious." Eve put the clean wine glasses on the table next to the opened bottle and began to pour.

"It should, considering what it cost," Bond muttered. His offer to pitch in had led to his paying for the gourmet shop detour.

"Hush, 007. They pay you well for dying and coming to life again." Q chopped some fresh oregano with quick strokes and tossed it onto the circle of white dough with red sauce. What next? Sun-dried tomatoes? Portabellos?

"I'm sitting in your kitchen and you're making me dinner." Bond leaned forward over the butcher-block table, showing off perfect forearms and perfectly cuffed shirtsleeves. "I think you can call me James."

Q looked from the pizza to Bond, blinked once, and looked back at the pizza. 

"You can do it. Eve does. James." He sounded like he was coaxing a puppy.

"Shh," Eve said, "he's creating." He took the glass of wine from her hand without looking at her.

A few sips of wine, a few moments of respectful silence from his companions, and Q knew what he wanted. Shaved prosciutto. Artichoke hearts. A layer of fontina, very soft, and a grating of very hard, ripe parmesan over that. Fresh Italian parsley, not chopped but torn. And into the oven it went. "Thanks for preheating," he said to Eve, and kissed her on the cheek.

Neither of them missed Bond's slightly raised eyebrow.

Eve was still wearing the trim lavender dress she'd had on all day, three-quarter sleeves, a deep v-neck with an inset. Her perfume was lavender, too, clever, which had turned smoky with long wearing. Bond had shown up in crisp khaki trousers and a fresh button-down shirt, pale pink, which brought out the blue of his eyes and brightened his skin tone. The long sleeves were turned up in perfect folds to just below the elbows, showing browned forearms, a recent scar on one wrist.

It was still cool enough that Q had not yet put away his cardigans. Today's choice was a green and grey houndstooth check, which he was considering removing as the oven warmed up the room. But, much as he hated to admit it, he was wearing only a short-sleeved button-down beneath the cardigan, and he was loath to show off his pale and skinny arms next to Bond's magnificent display.

"Aren't you a bit warm, Q?" Bond was reading his mind, dammit.

"Oh, he likes it hot." Eve grinned at him behind the cover of her wineglass, the bitch.

He opened the oven to check on the pizza, even though he had it timed precisely and opening the oven would only let more heat into the kitchen. A wave of delicious fragrance took them all silent for a moment.

"Well, that's coming along nicely." He reached for his glass and found it empty; had he drunk that much already? Eve glided up and topped him off. "I suppose I am feeling a bit warm."

He undid his tie first, stripping it off and unbuttoning his shirt down to the top of his vest. Then he unbuttoned the cardigan, precisely, one button at a time, with as much bravado as he could manage considering that Eve and Bond were both watching him with their full attention.

Seducing Bond together had seemed like such a good idea when Q and Eve first discussed it. Of course, they had discussed and planned it after drinking, fucking, and smoking a good deal. The murderously hot curry they'd shared might have been a factor as well, seeing as it led to more drinking than usual.

One glass of red wine on an empty stomach was not enough to induce again the confident euphoria Q had felt when he agreed to this plan. What could Bond possibly see in him, to make him agree to a scene a trois? He was fairly certain that neither sex with a man nor sex with two partners would be in itself a sufficient novelty.

The beeping of the kitchen timer actually startled him. What had Eve and Bond been talking about while he was abstracted? Whatever it was, Eve had brought out the salad and a dish of seasoned olive oil for dipping crusts. Bond was pouring out more wine and chilled water for everyone as Q brought the pizza to the table. 

The first bite of pizza restored Q's self-confidence. It had turned out perfectly, despite his distraction, and Bond's reaction was also perfect: eyes closing, shoulders relaxing, and a low hum of pleasure that was almost a groan. Bond chewed, swallowed, looked at the pizza, looked at Q. "This is the best pizza I have ever eaten. Marry me."

"Why, Mr Bond, this is so sudden." Eve was laughing around her second slice, but Q watched Bond eat. He'd expected the agent to wolf down the homemade meal as an excuse for drink, but Bond appeared to be savouring every bite. He dipped his crusts in the olive oil to finish and then licked his fingers. Q bit his tongue to keep from licking his lips and throwing himself at Bond's feet. 

Eve came to the rescue with an amusing anecdote about Tanner being caught on the street by a random reporter and asked his opinion of a political pronouncement. Tanner had boldly affected a broad Estuary accent and made up something fatuous on the spot. From there the conversation wove among office antics, anecdotes of the field from Bond, and general discussion of some new films. Eve was very keen on that Cumberbatch fellow. Q hoped Bond did not notice how keen he himself was.

At last Eve began gathering up the plates, empty save for crumbs and bit of herbs, and Bond helped her by bringing the cutting board and the knives, the tumblers of water and Q's empty wineglass. He gazed forlornly at the ring on the placemat where the glass had stood.

"It's been a lovely evening," Bond was saying, rolling down his cuffs. He took Eve by the hand and gathered her into his arms, against his body, an intimate embrace finished not by a passionate kiss, but by the press of Bond's slightly scruffy cheek against Eve's tumbled hair. Q rose from the table, running his hands through his hair; the dishwasher was loaded and there was no washing up to do except the pizza stone and a couple of the knives--

"A very lovely evening," Bond said, turning to Q. His warm hard fingers curled around Q's wrist and drew him into exactly the same sort of embrace, body to body, from chest to knees. His lips landed just beside Q's ear as he murmured, "It could be a very lovely night as well…."

Q made a sharp, noiseless intake of breath, then gave it out on a moan as Bond's lips settled on his neck. He was vaguely aware of beeping noises that meant the dishwasher was being set and run; he was extremely aware of the heat of Bond's body, the heaviness of his thighs, the skill of the fingers that wound into Q's thick hair.

"I'm turning the light off," Eve said from the doorway. "You boys want to join me in the bedroom?"

Bond let go and backed away. Eve was sauntering away, pulling off her dress with the same careless sensuality Q had seen when it was just the two of them. Bond cocked his head at Q.

"I don't know where the bedroom is."

He wants to be sure I want this, Q thought. My move now.

Lifting his chin, he walked away from James Bond, following Eve, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He did not look back, but he heard Bond's footsteps behind him, slow and deliberate as the footsteps of a stalking cat, a tiger hunting its prey.

By the time both men were in the bedroom, Eve had turned down the covers and was sitting naked on the bed, looking at them expectantly. Bond looked at her, then at Q, and made his decision; he pulled Q into his arms again and kissed him, at the same time peeling away cardigan and shirt.

Bond kissed exactly the way Q expected: hard, practiced, overwhelmingly. And suddenly that wasn't what he wanted. He reached up, pushed bare palms against the mass of Bond's chest and shoulders. He was down to his vest, and his trousers were half-open.

"Not like that, James." His voice came out firmer and clearer than he was expecting. "No hitting the usual marks tonight. We're not your targets, Eve and I."

He met Bond's gaze. The man seemed at a loss, not angry, perhaps confused.

"Get your arse on the bed, James," Eve put in. She patted the mattress. "Right here."

Lowering his eyes, Bond began to unbutton his shirt. Smiling, Q stepped up and unbuckled his belt. There was a hard ridge of arousal behind the zipper he let down; he dropped to his knees as Bond shrugged off his shirt, drawing the trousers down at the same time. Bond made to step out of them, but Q stopped him with a hand on one thigh. With the other hand, he pulled down Bond's briefs in the front just enough to let out the man's swelling cock.

"Oh, I need to see this," Eve said. Q waited a moment to let her come lean against James, her arm curling round his waist, before he sucked the head of Bond's cock between his lips.

"Oh, *God*," Bond groaned. His fingers brushed Q's hair, withdrew, settled in, guided by Eve's hand. Q suckled, licked, drew back, measured the impressive length with his grasp, cupped the man's balls and sucked him in again. He wasn't aiming to make James come, or even to impress him, just to please, to let him know that giving pleasure was what this evening was about.

When he sighed and straightened up again, Bond darted for a kiss, but Eve interposed herself. "Ah ah ah, my turn." Her knowing mouth searched and tasted all the James in Q's mouth, biting his lips so they turned rosy and full. Q was aware of James watching avidly, his own lips parted, his breathing accelerating.

Then Eve turned to kiss James, her hands pushing at his shirt. In a moment the two of them had James naked, down to bare feet, and they both stepped back to admire the view: Hard muscle, sparse body hair, nearly golden skin streaked here and there with scars that ranged from silver-white to deep rose. And an impressive package, reared up on display.

Q realized, belatedly, that he was the only person still mostly dressed. He whirled out of his clothes, not giving himself time to be shy, and then Eve caught his hand and dragged both him and James toward the bed.

James wound up in the middle, of course, with Eve's clever fingers curled around his prick. He pulled her down for a kiss, and Q stroked her shoulder and James's chest and his own prick, waiting for a turn. It couldn't come soon enough, but it did come, another turn at Bond's mouth, a chance to get his hands on that splendid body. Soon he and Eve were both stroking James at once, and it was pretty, Eve's small dark hands and his own slim pale ones gliding over Bond's rough golden hide, and Bond actually seemed to be relaxing and taking it all in, though not without reciprocating--fondling Eve's breast, stroking Q's cock.

When Eve started gasping, Q saw that Bond's hand was between her thighs, fingers working in and out of her. Bond was watching her face, beautiful and wild, and Q seized his chance to swing over between Bond's glorious thighs and swallow his cock in earnest.

Now James gasped, and Eve laughed, and Q bobbed his head, slowly and sensuously, giving James time to feel that rhythm and find it for himself, to give it to Eve with his fingers. Purring, Eve bent to kiss James, and Q backed off a little, wanting to keep this going. Bond's cock was magnificent to see and equally magnificent to touch, to taste--huge, hard, proudly curved, the head fully exposed now and dewed with pre-ejaculate. Q never tired of the juxtaposition of heat and hardness with the softness and slipperiness, the velvety delicacy of that skin, and the way a man's bollocks moved in his hands when he petted them. He might look like the submissive, the suppliant, but his teeth and his hands were close to the most sensitive flesh on a man's body, and James was groaning helplessly as Q worked him over with lips and tongue and teeth, his wrists held to the pillows by Eve's insistent grip.

Q lifted his head at the touch of Eve's hand, took the condom and had it unwrapped and smoothed on so quickly that James barely noticed the transition. Then Eve was swinging one leg over, mounting James with athletic grace, and Q moaned in sympathy with her and James as she sank down on the cock that had been in his mouth a few moments ago.

James's eyes opened as Eve began rocking, their icy blue turned electric hot. Q took one of his roving hands and held it in both his own, nibbling the dry knuckles, finding and kissing a scar on the Venus mound at the base of the thumb. James groaned something that might have been, "Q…", and he sucked James's thumb into his mouth, licking, suckling, then his first two fingers. James's hips bucked, almost unseating Eve, and he clutched at her shoulder.

Eve planted her hands on James's shoulders and began to ride a bit more purposefully, stilling James again. Q kissed the man's fingers and drew them to his chest, then down to his cock. James fisted him roughly until Eve reached for his wrist.

"Q. I want you, too." She gulped for breath. "Want you in my arse."

James and Eve were both panting, trembling as they held still. Next move was Q's, but he knew what he was doing. He'd fucked Eve in the arse before, knew where to find the lube and a condom, how to open her up quickly but enough. She stretched herself over Bond's chest as Q twisted two fingers inside, trembling himself at the feel of Bond's cock there, right there, inside Eve, feeling his touch through her body as he felt its presence.

He slicked a last handful of lube over himself and guided himself in just before Eve or Bond or both lost patience and ordered him onward. He groaned more loudly than they did--God, so tight, so very tight, slick and hot and not only was Eve grasping him eagerly, wanting this, but he could feel Bond, feel James's cock filling her up. So good, so impossibly good. Shaking, he wrapped his arms around Eve, just to hold on, gathering her against him and ah! James pushed up, fucking strong bastard, pushing against Eve's weight and Q's and moving them both.

His hands met James's on her breasts and Eve moaned deliciously, softening in his arms, no longer in control of the fuck. Would it be Q or James? Q buried his face in Eve's throat, lavender and sweat, silky skin and fleecy hair, and began thrusting in a moderate but firm rhythm. Eve went softer still, her arse opening more, her head dropping back on his shoulder, her arms draped along his. Bond moved in counterpoint, not much, but as much as he could, and Q let Eve slip down into Bond's arms, kissing his way down her spine as she curled forward, and shifted so he could get enough leverage to thrust harder, to fuck Eve, to fuck Bond, his weight pressing through Eve onto the other man, who was now cursing brokenly in harmony with Eve's long wordless moans.

"That's it, that's it," he heard himself say, "that's it, oh Eve, I love your arse, yes, take it, darling, take it, there, there," and he was slamming into her, her body liquid, James shuddering beneath them, Eve was so beautiful, and he wanted to fuck Bond like this, he wanted James's legs over his shoulders, he wanted Bond to fuck him and bite him and leave him barely able to walk, and his climax was so sudden and so thorough that he could make no sound, no move, only hold suspended until it was all wrung out of him.

When Eve began to sit up, Q did, too, shook his head, eased out of her body. Eve sort of toppled off of Bond, coming to rest beside him with her hand on his chest. Wiping his mouth and then reaching for the filled condom, Q looked at them and saw that Bond was--crying.

James Bond, crying?

He made no sound. His eyes were tightly closed, his mouth drawn. But he was shaking as if he were sobbing aloud, and there was no missing the tears running from his eyes down to the rumpled pillow.

Eve seized a handful of tissues and moved in close, murmuring soft things that only meant caring and comfort. Q slipped out to the loo to dispose of the condom, came back to find Eve curled against James, and hesitated half a breath before tucking himself against Bond's side opposite Eve, saying nothing, but pulling the sheet over their cooling bodies.

The crying went on for a little while. Eve fell silent; Q said nothing. Presently Bond shifted in a way that made Eve and Q let him up; he padded into the bathroom and stayed there a few minutes. When he returned, he'd obviously washed his face, but he didn't seem embarrassed; his posture was far more relaxed than usual.

"Any chance I could make myself a cup of coffee?" James cocked his head at Q.

Q sat up and ran a hand through his hair. "Let me make us a pot," he said, glancing at Eve. She nodded, and they both got out of bed. Eve slipped back into her clothes; Q pulled on his pajamas before heading for the kitchen.

Soon they were sitting around the kitchen table again, drinking coffee and, perhaps, wondering if this had been such a good idea. At least Q was wondering that, as he sipped coffee he didn't want and watched Bond, fully dressed again, go through two cups with the air of a man trying to sober up. He couldn't think of anything to say, and apparently, neither could Eve.

At last Bond stood up and took his cup to the sink. He rinsed it out, dried his hands on a towel, and thrust his hands in his pockets. "I think I had better be going."

Eve and Q looked at each other and then both got up, murmuring, "Right, yes, of course." They followed Bond to the door; Q handed him his jacket, a handsome brown suede bomber style.

"Thank you both for a lovely evening," Bond said. Q's heart sank at the formal words, but then Bond turned to Eve and gathered her into his arms for a long hug and a short kiss. He turned to Q, looked at him for a moment, and then took Q's face between his hands to kiss him, intimately, tenderly, exploring his mouth as if about to begin making love all over again.

Then it was over and Bond was through the door. He glanced over his shoulder. "Let me know when you feel like making pizza again," he said, and trotted down the steps and into the night.

Eve closed the door and leaned against it. "Well."

Q sagged where he stood. "Well."

Eve tipped her head, grinned, and Q grinned back. "I'd say Operation Pizza was a success."

"Quite."


End file.
